


Borne Of Winter

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Reunions, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Multi, Rhaegar the greatest troll to ever troll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The court of the King is home to some of the most horrifying tales of intrigue. Despair weds fascination, weaving plots the likes of which are to be found in song. Amid the illusions of grandeur and vicissitudes of fate, each individual is responsible to choose the path most fitting. There are no excuses and there is no forgiveness in the game of thrones. There are only winners, and the rest are bones.</p><p>Or, the patient dragon sets the realm on fire when he reveals a plan sixteen years in the making.</p><p>AU! Lyanna Stark returns to a Westeros much changed. And why should she not, when she too is much changed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, forgot the year. Sorry.

_299 AL_

 

“You still have much to learn.”

She knocked her elbow into corded muscles, emboldened by the ensuing sound of discomfort. Lyanna twirled around and brought down her sword, resting it against thin flesh. She smiled benevolently at the stunned face and, with her other hand, gave a strong push.

Jon landed on his bottom, mild annoyance clouding his features. “I almost did it,” he emphasised sullenly, a wayward strand of hair falling into his face.

“And the next time it shall be my sister’s arse tossed in the dust,” came the laughing remark from the balcony overseeing the yard. Benjen looked upon the mother and son, wolfish grin firmly in place. “Don’t despair, boy.”

“I am not,” Jon groused picking himself up. “I’ll win next time, mother.”

“Good. See that you do.” She took the sword from his hands and placed it against the pillar with her own. “Now go wash off that dust.” Once alone, she gazed up at her sibling. “What is it, Ben? Bored of the pillow girl already?”

“We’ve word from home.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rhaegar nodded his head. “I’m listening, Rhaenys.” But his daughter simply looked from him to her brother. “You may go on.” Daenerys sucked in her lower lip, her face scrunching up in an effort to not manifest her amusement. He threw her an expectant look.

“It is naught, Your Majesty.” She pouted.

Aegon snorted, soup droplets landing on the pristine tablecloth. That set Daenerys off like naught else. The two joined in a symphony of laughter. Rhaegar swallowed his own food and decided to leave the matter to his bickering children. They would work it out in the end.

He stood and nodded towards Arthur.

“Are you leaving already, Your Majesty?” his sister questioned, standing as if to follow.

“I’ve matters to attend to.” Her disappointment was swiftly hidden underneath a small. And he saw no reason to linger.

Without the Spider waited. “Has there been a reply?” Rhaegar questioned, passing the man.

“Not yet, Your Majesty.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hotch-potch basically. A body sewn out of the cadavers of other ideas which might have been great or not.


	2. ii. original sin

 

 

 

 

 

 

_299 AL_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna tsked softly, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “Has it been seven years already? I did not expect you would count.” She had, for reasons all of her own. Nonetheless, Lyanna offered a thin smile and an inviting gesture. “What brings you to my door again?” She had been firm in her answer. Or so she’d believed. Apparently, dragon skulls were thick. As thick as a stag’s.

“A man can no longer see his wife without ulterior motive?” Rhaegar asked with about as much sincerity, wrapping an arm around her loosely by way of greeting. “Is that it? Have you grown sour in my absence?”

“Not so much sour, as heavy,” she replied without flinching. “You cannot bully me into returning, Your Majesty, and that summon of yours I threw in the fire.” The cage tightened, walls drawing closer. But she kept her smile on and even leaned in. “Need I ask a second time?”

“I’ve always enjoyed your way of asking,” her husband quipped, releasing her. “You never wrote to say there was another child.” That was not the crux of the matter. So Lyanna treated the statement with cold indifference. “I want you with me. All of you.”

“Why would you?” Sitting down, she crossed her arms over her chest, holding his gaze as one of the servants entered, carrying refreshments. “You have your Visenya. You’ve no need of mine.“ He sat as well and picked up one of the cups.

“Is that what you’ve named her? Visenya? Arthur was never able to learn her name.” And well that he was not. She snorted and took her own cup to her lips. “So it is not Visenya?”

“Visenya was your dream.” There was naught to it beside that. “It seemed to me a more prudent choice should be made. After all, I am your wife when it is convenient. And when it is not, I am your little secret to be kept away from all eyes and ears. Commendable work, your Spider does.”

His palm landed on her knee, fingers drumming against the cap. “I couldn’t very well keep you under Elia’s nose. You know that. You’ve always known it. And you are my wife even when it is not convenient.” She cocked her head to the side. “You gave her a Stark name?”

“She might as well have the name at least if she does not have the looks. That girl, she’s your spitting image.” His presence did not suddenly feel more comfortable. Lyanna suspected that after seven years of not seeing the man, it was to be expected. “Alys. I call her Alys. And your Elia was gone these five past years.”

“Had I known, I would have called for you then.” He was talking about Alys. She scowled gently. “I trusted you to tell me about these things.” The admonishments slid right off like water off the wings of a duck.

“Who asked you to?” she chided right back. “I never claimed I would write to you like some lovelorn ninny. You wanted to try for a daughter. I agreed to that.”

“You also agreed to be my wife.” She waved her hand dismissively, as if that matters naught. “If I cannot trust you, then you and yours are of no use to me.” She leaned back in her seat, the bluster gone for a moment. “I would have us come to an understanding.”

Of course he would. It was always about understandings with him. “I am willing to come back, but not for naught. If you would have me be part of this scheme of yours, I want something in return.” He raised his eyebrow at her. “A small matter, and you have my word I shan’t even breathe without writing to you about it.”

“What exactly is this small matter?” Instinctively, she knew he suspected her request. Lyanna would too in his stead. Save for a handful of nights spent together and a couple of children, there was very little to tie them together.

“Winterfell.” He chuckled. Gods, how he angered her at times. “Don’t laugh. I am being serious.”

“Winterfell is in the keeping of your brother. You would have me rob the man of his inheritance?” Now he found it necessary to be fair. She scoffed and shook her head. “Explain.”

“Your Majesty, you already know my eldest brother pissed everything of worth away on his wine and whores, then had the temerity fall of his horse in a drunken stupor and break his neck. Good riddance, I say. He’s always been reckless. But Ned, poor, sweet Ned is his exact opposite. They have only one thing in common, their marriages are barren as a wasteland.” Aught had to be done to righten the matter. “I have a son.”

“A fine son,” Rhaegar agreed, but added almost immediately, “and a fine brother besides. As for Lord Stark, his wife may yet breed. That is in the hands of the gods.”

“Benjen doesn’t want Winterfell. And Lady Ashara cannot conceive. Everything Brandon ever touched turned foul. My brother loves her, but let us not pretend he can heal her.” She gave a soft sigh. “I want Winterfell. That is the only way I will return with you. That is my word, Your Majesty.” Speaking of Brandon and the past always left a sour taste in her mouth. “Think upon it.” Lyanna stood. “Jon shan’t return anytime soon, but Alys I know where to find, if you’d like to see her, that is.”

She’s thought about not making mention of it. But Lyanna did not see any reason to mince words halfway through. “I feel I should warn you, Alys can be peculiar at times.”

“Peculiar?” She’d forgotten how smoothly his voice flowed. Lyanna looked over her shoulder as she began taking the stairs. Rhaegar’s eyes were focused on her.

“Peculiar. She spends too much time with dusty books and has the most morbid interests. I despair, at times. But otherwise she is the sweetest girl.” Aye, when she was not trying to dig out some ancient beasts. Her husband was taking it rather well, on the bright side. “Up there is the library.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah the wonderful things which come with ngaf. Lol.


	3. iii the slippery slope

 

 

 

 

 

 

_299 AL_

 

 

 

 

 

 

A tome lied open in the middle of the reasonably sized chamber. It was surrounded by a wide circle of objects including feathers, bits of fur, eggshells and what looked to be a chicken’s claw. And that was the least strange thing about the library his wife kept.

Lyanna shrugged at his questioning look, seemingly well used to such occurrences. She stepped past the circle an d behind one of the shelves. “Alys, come out now and see who has come to visit.” He frowned, but did not follow. It sounded as if something fell to the floor. “Alys, how many times must I tell you that shelves do not make appropriate napping places?”

“I wasn’t napping.” The girl dashed, or so Rhaegar assumed as Alys came running, past her mother and into the open space, wide-eyed and eager. And then she saw him. Rhaegar could not rightly describe her reaction. He was too caught up in the first sight of his daughter to remark upon much besides her.

Tall and willowy, even for a child, Alys was as Lyanna had described a mirror image to him. The shape of her face set her apart, much too long to have come from anyone but her mother. She stood there, a figure out of his dreams, it seemed, waiting upon his word. Or her mother’s as it so happened.

“Greet your father, Alys, and don’t dawdle,” Lyanna worked her way in naturally, giving their daughter a light push in the right direction of action. She started and glanced over her shoulder. “Come now, as I taught you.”

At the very least she’d had the decency to speak of him. Somewhat assuaged, Rhaegar shifted when Alys turned towards him a second time. Somewhat awkwardly on account of a dress hiked too high with a bit of string, she curtsied slowly, as if afraid she would fall on her face. Then, without warning, her composure broke and she threw herself in his arms, wrapping long limbs around him. “I knew you would come. I told mother so.”

“So you have, my little seer,” his wife commented.

“I’m Alys, father. I asked mother if I could be a Daenys instead or even Alysanne, but she said Alys would have to do.” And at such a claim one could say very little. It occurred to Rhaegar that he was not supposed to either way. So he held his daughter back.

“Alys is a fine name,” he responded at long last, moving an arm to balance the girl better. “And even better it is your name. Besides, I already have a sister named Daenerys.” Gods protect him from ever having to understand the thought process of women.

“Would you have chosen this name for me?” Was she trying to convince him to change her name? For some reason, he found that endearing.

“Of course.” Lyanna pursed her lips and gave a shake of the head. He smiled at her.

“Then I supposed I like it a little bit batter. But I still maintain Daenys would have been more suitable.” Lyanna shrugged at that and moved to take Alys before he could answer.

“Nonetheless, you are Alys. Just as I am Lyanna.” She put the girl down. “What exactly have you been doing in here?” His daughter scowled lightly, and it seemed she was refusing to answer, but his wife was not about to back down. “Alys, I asked you something.”

“I won’t tell.” The particular whiny tone which she used implied Lyanna would not be pleased with the answer. So Rhaegar decided to step in. It was time, after all, to know his offspring a little better.

“Would you tell me though?” he questioned, taking the girl by the hand. “Your mother will go out for a moment and you can tell me. I won’t say a word to her.” He winked subtly at Lyanna whose grimace could have turned milk sour.

“Very well,” the she-wolf huffed. “But I’ll only be a moment.” One could always count on Lyanna to understand the subtle cues. She made her way out the door with one last belligerent look, which Rhaegar did not take seriously at any rate, knowing how she enjoyed provoking others. “And I had best receive an explanation I like when I return.”

The door closed with a soft sound and footsteps could be heard retreating down the stairs. Rhaegar looked at his daughter. “Would she truly be displeased with whatever it is you were doing here?” He moved carefully around her circle, trying to figure out what it was he was looking at.

“Very. She always is when I try to use my gift.” Alys skipped away to one of the chairs and sat down. “But mother means well.”

“Your gift?” Lyanna had been right. The child was peculiar. Even the way she spoke would have been more suitable on an aged crone. But fresh-faced, young Alys carried on, despite the inconsistency.

“Sometimes I see things. In my dreams.” Daenys, of course, had been a dreamer. He smiled indulgently. She hesitated then, just for a moment “You do not believe me.”

“I believe you.” Or at the very least that she believed in what she was saying. “And your mother does not like this?” Very like Lyanna to reject any notion that the future was set in stone. “Go on, Alys. You can tell me.”

“Nay. You do not. But you’ll see. I can prove what I say is true.” She nodded along to the words she spoke, proud indeed of her achievement in that. “In a few moments’ time mother shall come running in with news that my brother has returned and that you are needed.” At least she was imaginative. Lyanna had allowed her to run wild.

Rhaegar was about to assure her once more that he believed her when the sound of someone running up the stairs stopped him. Both he and his daughter glanced towards the door, one baffled, the other victorious.

The door swung on its hinges and his wife dashed in, the front of her gown dripping with gore. “Come with me, Rhaegar. Alys, you stay here. Not a step down the stairs until I come for you, are we understood?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He woke up with a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin, causing the sheets to stick to his skin. It had been one of those dreams, wretched memories taunting him with the futility of wishing and hoping for any better. Ned sat up, burying his face in his palms, sitting like that for a few moments. A few long moments, until his breathing pattern returned to normal. He wiped the sweat away and heaved a sigh.

Reaching out, he searched for the comforting material presence of his wife. But Ashara was not there. Glancing towards the spot, a jolt of fear shook him. She was supposed to be sleeping next to him, far off in a world of dreams, hopefully better than his own. And yet his bed was empty, his wife gone.

Ned wasted not a minute longer. He was on his feet and out the door, tearing down the long unlit corridor, instinctively heading for the nursery, the forever empty and intimidating chamber that had housed a single child for no more than a few hours since his youth. How he hated that chamber and all it stood for, all he could not have.

It was no wonder that his wife should be there, after all she was part of the latter category.

And indeed, Ashara was standing hear one of the lower lancets a bundle in her arms, rocking it back and forth. She was singing, he realised as soon as a shaft of moonlight made visible her lips. Ned shut the door gently. It would not matter if he’d slam it though. In her current state the woman would not notice.

Making his way deeper within, he came to stand behind her, touching a hand to her shoulder. “It is the middle of the night, lady wife. It’s cold out here.” She was cold, at least, by the way she shivered. Unresponsive to his attempts, Ashara continued humming. He turned her around and gently forced the bundle out of her grasp, throwing it to the ground.

Whatever she’d wrapped in it smashed against the ground with a jarring sound, but Ashara continued rocking the emptiness in her arms. “Let us go to bed,” he said nonetheless, taking her by the shoulder. Ned looked down. She was barefoot. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked of no one in particular, knowing fully well his wife would continue to hum until she woke from whatever malady held her captive.

When he stepped without, the two of them were no longer alone. Clad in heavy mourning clothes, Nan was standing in the corridor, holding up a single half-burnt candle. “I will sit with Lady Stark,” the old woman said, pressing a hand to the small of Ashara’s back. Ned gave her up without a fight. “You go sleep, m’lord. There is much preparation to make.”

Ned was not even certain he would be going to King’s Landing given the situation. Before he could say so, however, Na had begun walking away, speaking in gentle terms to her newest charge.

Failure gnawed at his insides with vicious determination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seems so optimistic about a potential Ned/Ashara marriage ruin everyone's fun.. I'll just go with the less travelled (I think) path here and


	4. iv. blood turns

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jon was not quite certain what stung more, his bruised pride resting in tatters at his feet, or the vicious cut threatening to leave him a bloodless corpse rather soon. Of course, his mother’s hovering helped matters none. “Out of all the stupid things,” he could hear her muttering as she helped drag his companion to another stool.

Thick red liquid slides between his fingers and down his arm, the heat searing. “What was I to do, mother. Let him die?” Her glare quelled all protests however. Realistically speaking, he might have done a lot better than to jump into the fray himself; there were guards enough roaming the streets to intervene, but then again finding one would have taken too much time. Time he did not have.

His uncle pulled a face. “’Twas not your business to protect him,” he said at long last after mother had taken off with a fierce curse. “Not on this day, of all days. Have you any idea what manner of trouble this will bring?”

He shrugged, still pressing damp fingers over the oozing gash.

“Call for the healer,” his mother cut her own brother off. “And you, sit down and take your hand away from that wound.” Benjen had little to say to that, other than to murmur under his breath. A hand clapped down onto Jon’s shoulder, forcing him to sit. His mother inspected the cut with care, her finger brushing softly against the pulsating flesh. Jon winced, teeth clamping together.

It was then that the doorway presented him with a sight distracting enough that his breath was cut off without further ado. It was a face he’d never thought he would see. In fact, had anyone bothered to ask him, he would have made it clear he had no wish to see it either.

But the man was watching him back, trained upon his face. Jon could detect only a sliver of surprise. Though, why he should experience even that little was more of a mystery than the engulfing calm stopping him from rising to his feet and offering a few choice words. But he could not. His mouth seemed to have filled itself with enough silence to deafen even the loudest roaring of intentions.

“What is going on here, Lyanna?”    

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. v. farce in the making

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why is he even here?” her son questioned, childish pout stuck firmly in place. Were it not for the fact that he sported a bleeding wound, Lyanna would have been more than pleased to give said ear a strong tug. As matters stood, she had to make do with a grim glare. “You said he would never come here.”

“I did not say any such thing.” Her eyes roamed the bandage covering the split flesh. “Whatever your feelings, you must keep in mind that he is a king. And you are his son. Like it or not, there is a blood tie between you.”

The boy crossed his arms over his chest. A light wince touched his features. “Is that supposed to excuse the fact that I have not seen him once in all these years? Just because he is a king, I am supposed to shrug my shoulders and accept his appearance, as though it were naught?”

“No one can dictate how you feel,” she found herself clarifying with a sudden rush of exasperation. At times, she wondered if she’d done well to encourage such behaviour in this child. “Not I, and certainly not your father. If you wish to be angry, do so. On your own time. For the rest of it, you are Jon Targaryen, son of the king. And by the gods, you shall act it wherever there are eyes to see it. Have I made myself clear?”

Hesitation dictated a dilation of time. Jon stared at her incomprehensively, brow furrowed. “Act it? You have already decided upon the course of action. Am I to be your puppet then, mother? Dance however you pull the strings.” For a brief moment she thought she saw genuine hurt until his gaze became shuttered, face reflecting only little of what she assumed to be the turmoil within. “I am not beholden to your plans.”

At that she did sigh, releasing all of the pent-up frustration which had been accumulating inside of her. “I have already decided,” Lyanna confirmed. “And you will do as I say. Do you think I am doing this for myself? I have a home here, everything I could possibly need. Why would I wish to go back, if not for you and your sister?”

“How would I know?” he skulked in response. Forced to ask for further information at his lack of compliance, she’d little idea of what their conversation would lead to. “Just because you wish to punish him for whatever transgression you believe him guilty of does not mean that Alys and I should be used as game pieces.”

It was her turn to embrace the lingering silence. At a loss, she sat down next to him, trying to sort out through the crowding explanations rushing to her lips. All she could offer though for those first few moments was a rush of air and a quick successions of onomatopoeias. The clarifying scope of such sounds was lost on her son though, for he stared at her stoically, drawing no doubt upon the similarities he shared with his father.

Put in an interesting position, by her son no less, Lyanna saw little recourse but to admit her true thoughts upon the matter. “He needs support. Whatever he is thinking to do, he would not have come here if he had enough support. Ned shall obviously not give it to him, in part due to the scandal of all those years past, and I’ve little doubt Robert would be inclined to either. Which leaves him without the Tyrells’ involvement as well. You see, he has come to ask for a favour. And I shall make him pay through the nose for it.”

Wide eyes regarded her with doubt. “You cannot force a king’s hand,” he pointed out, proving once and for all that there were gods, and she’d not spent resources needlessly in educating him.

“Obviously. But a woman can easily force the hand of her husband. You have much to learn.” She smiled. An easy lift of twin corners. “My brother has no children. He is not likely to father any either. Brandon’s only babe died long past. And Benjen has long agreed to leave Winterfell to me through whatever means necessary.”

“What are you saying, mother?” A spark of interest flashed in his gaze. Thanked be the gods, he was quite possibly beginning to understand. “Winterfell has always belonged to House Stark.”

“You are a Stark. As much as any child of Ned’s would have been. But more importantly, you are a prince. Who will naysay you?”

“I imagine that Lord Stark himself shall have a thing or two to say,” Jon offered after brief consideration.      

“As if his right, but that does not change the fundamental lack of an heir. Who would he give Winterfell to? The Karstark? Nay, I think not. Leave your uncle to me. All I need you to do is act with great care. I know not what awaits us in King’s Landing, other than a potential clash of wills.”

“Do you truly believe Winterfell will be protection enough?” That was a murmur, as though to let her know her son had been considering the very same dangers. “If the Crown Prince plays his cards right, the both of us could end up at the bottom of some ravine.”

“And if we play our cards right,” Lyanna countered, “then we could end up in a position were naught might touch us. I need you to be smart about this, son. We have a chance. Let us not squander it.” It was good at least that he’d inherited some of his father’s wish for understandings. Though it could be refined, that sense of his, every now and again. “I must return to his side now. Shall you be comfortable on your own?”

“I will manage to survive until supper, mother.” He sighed. “Somehow. Just as long as Alys does not come barging in.”

“I doubt she wishes to move an inch from her father’s side. Much more docile, that one.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. vi. unspeakable horros

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Did you hear a thing I said?” Rhaenys asked.

Daenerys blinked at the older girl. She searched her memory for the last thing that had been said, only that there was very little for her to find. Her lips opened by habit, a low murmur slipping through the gap though no definitive answer found its way to the forefront of her mind.

“Would it kill you to mind my words at least once in a while?” As though the rest of the world didn’t fall all over itself to listen to Rhaenys. The perks of being a member of the royal family. “Dany.”

“Very well, I did not hear a single thing you said,” she admitted, shifting until her feet were finally off the ground. The floors were rather cool. She offered an apologetic look, hoping it would be enough. Unfortunately for her, her niece was not at all inclined towards charity and forgiveness. Not that she was very much taken aback. Her suspicions were confirmed when the flesh just above her elbow was pinched between pointer and thumb. Hard.

A yelp was the most eloquent response she had. Followed by a slap to the other’s wrist. “That hurts.”

“That was the point.” Rhaenys settled back in her earlier position. “Now will you listen to me?”

“Only because I fear abuse for the rest of the night should I not.” She rolled her eyes and pulled a face. A sound from Rhaenys confirmed her choice had been a wise one.

“You are the absolute worst. I will tell father to wed you off to Uncle Oberyn.” The threat was effective in exacting a yawn from Daenerys. Rhaenys giggled, presumably at the lack of distress. “Truly though, do you father means to brings her and that boy here?”

“That boy is your brother. And that woman is his wife. If he wants to bring them, I doubt any of us have a say in it.” She shrugged gently, trying not to wonder as to the strangeness of it all. “Who knows, you might find him a perfectly adequate young man.”

“It would only take the Father himself gliding down from his golden throne and touching the crown of his head. Matters of principle are not solved with a smile and a liberal dose of optimism. If, though, by some unfortunate mishap of fate you find him likeable, recall that his mother was perfectly happy to create scandal wherever she went and she raised him. I doubt there’s a decent bone there.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	7. vii. lackadisical attempts at motivation

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You look fearsome.” Jon grimaced. He did not doubt his sister meant it as a compliment. One could not do so with the obvious smile Alys brandished his way with all the poise of an aurochs heard and the subtlety of a hammer to the head. She reached out to turn his head slightly. “I foresee maiden falling in a swoon at your feet.” Undoubtedly her way of saying she found him dashing.

Fortunately for Jon, there was no one about to witness the utter insanity crammed within one single girl. Maegor the Cruel was as naught to his sister. All mad Targaryens, some to think of it, could not match her. He smiled, nevertheless, in brief reward to her effort. “I would be severely disappointed if they did not; all good dragons strike terror in the hearts of maidens.” Or rather in the hearts of sane people. Which only called to attention the distinct possibility that madness would be a recurrent theme throughout succeeding generations, given the fact his mother was utterly unaffected by the dragon nearby. Two parents, and both of them mad.

Alys laughed. “You do not frighten me. And I am a maiden.”

“One cannot argue with such logic, moppet; except that you yourself are a fierce she-dragon.” His reward for the pointedly articulate argument was a huff of indignation. He finally escaped the clasp of her fingers and turned to face her.

“I am not a babe,” his sister protested, stomping her foot down, very near his own.

Jon drew himself to his full height and made a point to regard her with mild interest. “My dear moppet, why of course you are a moppet.”  So much for having a day all to himself. Alys would not leave him be now that he had affronted her reputation.    

Case in point, his most beloved sister grabbed onto him with a demand that he take what he’d said back. Which he had no plans of doing, to be certain. “A very compelling argument, Alys. But it leaves something to be desired. Might be if you’d use some persuasiveness.”

“I’m telling mother.”

Debatable prospects of insanity aside, the very thought of Alys in King’s landing sent shiver of anticipation down his spine. What a glorious time to be alive.

Now if only he could determine a feasible manner of keeping himself at a safe distance from the series of unfortunate developments which trailed his sister.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's reaction to Alys' shenanigans is basically like: 
> 
> Alys be like: 


	8. viii. and smaller gains

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ned was not certain what he ought to do. He stared for a few long moments at the man before him, hardly able to bring himself to believe it was truly his best of companions. Nevertheless, he could not bring himself to look away either. The differences were striking. And for all it amounted to, Robert was glaring back.

It was not a stare; he could not term the turmoil he saw in those eyes as a bland stare. “Lord Stark, come to court at last. It seems your sister has finally managed a convincing argument to her husband, eh?” Of course he would still be labouring under the impression that Ned had been in leagues with Lyanna. What could he possibly say to that?

If it came between his sister and the man who’d been like a brother to him, how could he be expected to betray either? “My lord must have very informative sources. I have heard naught about the King’s plans for my presence here. I would be much obliged if you would share this knowledge.”

Silence came from Robert’s side. Someone moved behind him, slowly breaking free of the shadows. A round-face stared up at him, blue eyes an exact replica of his father’s. The child tugged on Robert’s arm. “When is the King arriving, lord father?“

“Steffon, do not bother your father,” a woman cut in, reaching for the child and hauling him back. It was from her that the boy had inherited the moon-shaped face.

“My wife,” Robert confirmed. “Joanna, this is Lord Stark. You recall I have told you about him.” The woman nodded, a shy smile playing upon her lips. “This is our oldest, Steffon.” The boy managed a clumsy bow, then looked up at his father. Robert’s nod of approval earned him a large smile.

“May the gods grant him a long and prosperous life,” Ned found himself murmuring, a pang of something settling low in his stomach. He thought of Ashara for a moment and the faint pain bled into agony. He would never get to hold a son. Where was the fairness in that?

Steffon needed only a few brief moments to be off yet again, might be in search of peers he might entertain himself with. That left Ned alone with Robert and his wife. A more awkward situation he could hardly fathom.

It was just as well that he was saved from having to endure any further internal strife by the arrival of the King.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein you see the natural inclinations of women...destroying order and restoring chaos.
> 
> A job well done. Let's all give Lyanna a hand.


	9. VERY IMPORTANT

Hi everyone,

Sol here. So, I’m sure you’ve heard about the new link-tax and copyright reform the EU is looking to introduce into the member states of the union. To those of you who haven’t or are not from the EU, basically this new piece of legislation is looking into regulating all activities dependent on content (be it videos, songs, news articles, books etc). They would do that by monitoring what the users of a platform post and if copyrighted content is determined to be used, it would be considered criminal activity.

The only way it wouldn’t be deemed criminal activity is if the users paid a tax (hence why we call it a link-tax).

The vote will be held on the 20th of June and in case the law gets passed, I think it’s obvious I won’t be able to post anymore on any platform (be it this or FF.net or some other site). So what happens is this:  I am starting to archive all of my fics. Those of you who want to request a certain fic can find me [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Further updates information is: [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Questions are welcome, but for discretion’s sake, sensitive ones are better posted on discord, or if you must on my e-mail address.

Thank you for your time and sorry to bring you somewhat unpleasant news.

P.S. Every story with more than 20 subs will get a post like this. If you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. I’ll take them down after the 20th.


End file.
